Evidence
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: There is a ghost in his house. SteveNatasha, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Avengers._

_**Summary: There is a ghost in his house. SteveNatasha, oneshot**_

_Okay, so recently I've been obsessed with these two. There are some great fics floating around about this pairing, and I just thought why not add to them? Hopefully I do these two justice, because Steve is just a sweetheart and Natasha is epic. But yeah, I hope y'all enjoy this little attempt of mine! _

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**Evidence**

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It was almost like she wasn't there at all, Steve surmised, staring at the empty space she had once occupied.

Generally, a person left somewhat of a trace about them if they spent enough time in the same place. Steve could remember a few nights when Bucky bunked with him oh-so-many years ago, and how he had left little pieces of himself around the house. A shoe here, a used cup there, the mirror fogged up from showering, the radio on his favorite station - things like that. Tiny things, insignificant even, but things that showed someone had been there. That another person had _existed_ in the same space, for whatever amount of time.

But with her...well, it was different.

Steve had known that Natasha Romanov was a special gal - _woman_, he corrects himself; she hates it when he calls her his _gal_ - the moment he met her. Really, anyone with eyes could see that at first glance.

She was beautiful, obviously. That was the most blatantly glaring thing he had realized upon first making her acquaintance. Then, as time went on, he was able to see what was beneath that carefully arranged mask. She was intelligent - though, that wasn't that far a leap - and was always ready with a wry quip at his expense.

She was strong and unafraid of anything, qualities that he admired. She was a mixture of deadly and decadent, always on the alert and never vulnerable.

This combination of traits, naturally, fascinated Steve.

Before he knew it, the two of them spent so much time together he was beginning to pick up on little things about her. Though he was no where near as adept as Clint was - she still would glare at him if he ever dared call her _Nat _- he felt as if he knew her better than most.

She always liked proving him wrong, though.

However, in this case, she was proving him resoundingly right.

Steve figured it was part of her nature, a part of her former job description. Never leave anything traceable behind, never let anyone figure out someone else had been there. Be a phantom, be efficient.

He just never thought it would apply to his home.

As he walked around his apartment, he tried to find some evidence of her ever being there. There was nothing - no trace of perfume, not a hair, not even a ring where she sat her coffee that morning. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be trying to find, but the fact that he came up empty was not surprising.

Somehow, that made him incredibly sad.

It was a strange thing to get so melancholy over, he supposed, but he found himself doing it regardless. Sure, this could be because of what he had formerly mentioned - her training. However, Steve couldn't help but let his mind wander. Was it because she didn't feel comfortable in his home? Was it because she didn't want to become attached?

Shaking his head, Steve tried to remove those thoughts from his head. They would do nothing to help him here, nothing about them would benefit his current state of mind. They'd make it worse, the strange sense of insecurity niggling at the back of his mind. Despite being one of the most physically gifted creatures on the planet, he still had those moments of self-doubt. Too deeply ingrained, he figured, from the days when he was not-so-remarkable.

He ran a finger along the kitchen counter as if to occupy himself. There was nothing he needed to be doing at this current moment in time, nothing with which to wrap his mind around. It made him feel useless, really, something that he was not used to feeling, not after this long as something scientifically engineered to be the best.

While still pondering the complexities that made up the person of Natasha Romanov, Steve was brought up short.

In his stupor, he had wandered back into his bedroom in an almost mindless fashion, and in doing so, he found it - something so seemingly insignificant and yet so vital at the same time. Something that vilified her presence. Something that put her here in this place, with him.

Steve's eyes looked at his bed, grazed over the right side where he slept and then focused on the left, where she had been just the night before. He noted the slight indention beginning to form in her side of the mattress, signifying that she was more than just a spectre in his household.

Other than that, the bed was tidied up - a product of his own bringing up, of course, and hers as well, he was sure. Steve looked at it for a moment longer before a smile formed across his mouth, and he chastised himself for being so silly and short-sighted.

Because, really, it didn't matter what she left in her wake, as long as she made her way back to him in the end.

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_**End.**_


End file.
